


Informational Interview

by Magicofisis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-09
Updated: 2005-10-09
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magicofisis/pseuds/Magicofisis
Summary: After the end of the War, Harry tries to decide what he wants to do. Oliver Wood makes an offer that





	Informational Interview

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Notes: This fic is dedicated to my lovely friend, Kate, who is the hardest working beta in fandom. I got this overwhelming plot bunny while betaing her fic, [Harry Potter and the Death Eater’s Son](http://www.geocities.com/sheepybunbuns/), and knew that I had to ship Harry and Oliver together since she didn’t. And since it didn’t seem right to make Kate beta her own present, Shocolate was kind enough to beta for me. Thanks, dear. All remaining mistakes are my very own.

* * * * *

Two weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord. In a battle of epic proportions, which would be written about and studied for hundreds of years, the wizard who fashioned himself as indestructible was cleverly outwitted by a raven-haired, bespectacled young man barely out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dementors, goblins, giants, vampires and dark creatures of all shapes and sizes were drawn into the conflict; their numbers decimated by an extraordinary force envisioned and coordinated by the late Albus Dumbledore, and commanded admirably by Harry Potter. The Sorting Hat, which had correctly placed him in Gryffindor as an eleven-year-old neophyte, had known all along of Harry's thirst to prove himself, and this he did with the kind of style of which Gilderoy Lockhart could only dream.

Unfortunately for Harry, the same battle that catapulted Good over Evil and ensured his continued fame, cost him dearly in terms of lost loved ones. Hagrid – gone. Mad-Eye Moody – gone. Bill, Fred and Percy Weasley – all gone. Even some of his classmates had not survived: Terry Boot, Greg Goyle, Blaise Zabini and, most distressing of all, Neville Longbottom. At least thirty times a day, Harry had to remind himself that it was a War, and that war always claimed more than its fair share of innocent victims. Still, Harry hadn't realized that those victims would have familiar names and faces, or that so many would die so young.

After the Final Battle, Harry had gone to live at Twelve Grimmauld Place. Though the Order of the Phoenix had officially disbanded after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, there were enough people coming and going to keep Harry from becoming too lonely, and he suspected that much of the traffic was generated for the sole purpose of checking up on him. Still, he hadn't wanted to take the Weasley's up on their offer to stay at the Burrow, as their grief at losing three sons was much too raw, and Harry felt himself suffocating under his guilt whenever Mrs. Weasley smiled at him and called him "dear."

So it was that Remus Lupin had organized a small gathering at the former Order Headquarters - a birthday party of sorts - on July 31st, although no one would admit that it was a celebration of any kind. Just the same, Harry appreciated the effort that was made on his behalf, and managed to spend the entire evening without a single inappropriate outburst of anger of the kind to which he seemed to be prone lately. After midnight, most of the guests had left, and Harry found himself lounging in the kitchen with Lupin and Ron, who were both planning to stay the night.

"So, Harry," Lupin asked, "have you given any thought to what you want to do now? You should have your NEWT results any day now, and then the offers will start rolling in."

Harry smiled. "We got the letters yesterday. I did pretty well – all things considered – but I don't think my marks are good enough to get into Auror school. I suppose it would have helped if I hadn’t missed so many lessons while preparing for the battle. Anyway, I'm not even sure I want to do that anymore. After...you know…everything, it seems a bit anticlimactic."

"You don't want to be an Auror now?" wailed Ron. "I thought we could do it together."

Lupin turned towards Ron. "You earned good marks then?" he asked. Ron nodded. Harry suspected the year of dating Hermione had worked wonders for Ron's study habits, and Harry had always known him to be very bright.

Harry continued. "I just don't know. The thought of going to school for three more years, even if I could get in, doesn't thrill me, you know? I've had this Voldemort thing hanging over my head for my whole life, and now that he's finally gone, I just want to be...normal for a while."

Lupin took a long swig of butterbeer. "Sounds reasonable to me. I don't see why you have to decide what you want to do right away. Why not see what offers come your way and choose the thing that seems like it would be the most fun?"

Harry laughed at Lupin's comment and pointed at a large cardboard box in the corner of the room. "They started coming as soon as Voldemort's death was announced. Pretty soon I'm going to have to get them their own room."

Ron's eyes opened wide. "Bloody hell, Harry. Have you read them all? Who are they from?"

"I read everything that came the first few days, but now I don't even bother to open them. They're all the same. They have no idea what I'm like, but they want to say they have Harry Potter working for them." He grimaced at the awestruck look on Ron’s face. "Ron, I know it drives you crazy when I say it, but I don’t want any of this. I wish I could just be a regular unknown person."

"Choices are good, though, Harry. Being a werewolf doesn't give me a lot of options, so consider yourself lucky," said Lupin.

"God, Remus, I'm sorry. I'm not meaning to sound ungrateful..." Harry felt terrible, knowing how hard it had been for Lupin to get along all these years without meaningful employment.

Lupin interrupted, "No, Harry, don't feel bad. I'm long past wishing for things that could never be. I've had some incredible experiences in my life because of being a werewolf, and I believe that no matter what happens to you, you just need to make the best of it."

Harry leaned back in his chair, studying Lupin for a while. Here was a man who had lost all of his close friends in the two wars, his mentor and now his livelihood again. (Lupin had worked for the Order after leaving his teaching position at Hogwarts.) Harry realized that the two of them were in essentially the same spot: maverick loners with nothing pressing on the horizon and the whole wizarding world open to them – as long as they conformed to the narrow-minded ideas of the wizarding community.

"Remus, can I ask you something about my dad?" asked Harry.

"Of course. Although I reserve the right to answer only those questions which will not incriminate me."

Harry chuckled. "I was thinking more in terms of what his ambitions were. I’ve always wondered: what did he do for a living before he died?"

"He worked for the Order of the Phoenix – a spy, most likely. I'm not sure what exactly he was doing because I was off learning advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts at Dumbledore's request." Lupin examined Harry curiously. "Why do you ask?"

Ron had gotten up for more butterbeer and set two bottles on the table before opening his own.

"I was just thinking... My dad – he died pretty young. What do you think he would have wanted to do if there hadn't been any war and no Lord Voldemort?" Harry gazed anxiously at Lupin's face and was surprised to see a warm smile spread across it.

Lupin didn't speak for several moments as he rubbed his moustache, memories of James Potter washing over him. Finally he said, "I think if James could have done anything he wanted, he would have played professional Quidditch."

Ron blinked in disbelief. "You're kidding! But he was Head Boy. He could have done anything... worked for Gringotts, like Bill, or the Ministry of Magic, I suppose."

Lupin shook his head, still smiling. "Of course he could have. But you didn't know James. He had two loves in his life during school – Lily Evans and Quidditch. Sometimes we weren't sure that Lily came first. You know, Harry, that's why no one was surprised when you became the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in a century. James would have been on the Gryffindor team as a first year too, if Dumbledore hadn’t been a brand new headmaster then – he didn’t want to upset the traditions too much at first. Merlin, did that kid know how to fly – just like you, Harry."

"I know how he felt. I love to fly too. There's something about being on a broomstick with the wind flying through your hair – it's like no other feeling I've ever had."

Ron glanced over at the box in the corner. "Are any of those offers from Quidditch teams?"

"I don’t know – maybe. To tell you the truth, I just haven't had any desire to look at them."

"Well, let's go through them tomorrow. Maybe the Chudley Cannons made you an offer – heaven knows you'd be better than their pathetic Seeker," said Ron.

"Yeah, okay. I guess it won't hurt to look at them," Harry replied. He downed the rest of his butterbeer and declared himself ready for bed. He thanked Lupin and Ron for the party and left the room.

"Nice problem to have," said Lupin to Ron, as they too made their way out of the kitchen.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Too bad all this good fortune comes on the heels of so much loss. He'll be okay, though. Don't you think?" Ron made no mention of his brothers’ deaths, but he didn’t need to. Lupin understood just the same.

"He’ll be all right, Ron. We all will be. But it will take some time," answered Lupin, patting him on the back. "It always takes time."

* * * * *

The benefit of staying at Grimmauld Place was soon obvious to Harry: the Fidelius charm had been recast after Dumbledore’s death last spring, and Harry was now the Secret Keeper. This meant that no one who had not been a member of the Order or a personal friend of Harry’s would be able to find him. Their owls, on the other hand, seemed to have no trouble. As Ron, Lupin and Harry finished a leisurely breakfast, they were periodically interrupted by owl post. Each one of these creatures seemed to have a new employment offer for Harry. Really, he couldn’t remember having so much mail since that time during fifth year when he’d given the interview about Voldemort’s return for _The Quibbler_.

"How do all these owls get in here without it looking suspicious to the Muggles?" wondered Ron in amazement. 

Harry answered, "I’d rather not think about it. I wish people would stop sending me stuff, though. I mean, listen to this." Harry unraveled a small roll of parchment and cleared his throat. "Dear Mr. Potter: It has come to the attention of the proprietors of Gladrags Wizardwear that you have recently completed your final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While we are certain you will receive many fine offers of employment, we would like you to consider a career as a spokesmodel for our shops. We believe you have the image we associate with Gladrags, and feel you could contribute to our plans for strategic growth of our business. In this role, you would be compensated generously. Please contact me to arrange a personal interview at once. Regards, Mr. Edwin F. Hancock, Director of Merchandising, Gladrags Wizardwear Ltd."

Both Lupin and Ron were laughing as Harry tried valiantly to read the letter with a straight face. "A spokesmodel!" guffawed Ron. "So they splash your picture all over _The Quibbler_ and _Witch Weekly_ with a caption saying, ‘Harry Potter wears the latest styles from Gladrags!’"

"More likely than not," said Lupin, "the picture will be light on the styles and heavy on the skin."

"Do you see what I mean? Why did I bother with seven years of magical education if I was just going to take off half my clothes in front of a camera?" Harry said sulkily.

Ron burst into uproarious laughter as he read another letter. "This is it, Harry. The perfect job for you," he choked out. "The Sleekeazy Company would like to offer you complimentary hair care products. They say, ‘In several recent photographs, we’ve noticed that you appear to have a challenge controlling your hair. The Sleekeazy Company would like to send along our full line of products to try. We are sure you will find one to suit your needs. Once you discover the benefits of our products, we feel certain that a mutually beneficial endorsement contract can be agreed upon.’ Who’d have ever thought _you’d_ get an offer to endorse hair care products?"

Even Harry had to laugh at the absurdity of that one. When he glanced over at Lupin, however, he noticed the older man didn’t find it all that surprising. "Remus," Harry said, "you can’t seriously believe that I should be considering these offers…."

Lupin shifted in his chair and chose his words carefully. "However strange you think these offers might be, did you stop to consider why these companies all want you to model their products?"

"It’s because I’m famous. I killed Voldemort," said Harry, matter-of-factly.

"Think again," Lupin replied. Taking out his wand, he conjured a good-sized mirror and propped it up in front of Harry. "Here’s the reason you’re getting these letters."

Harry had no choice but to take a long critical look at himself in the mirror. The image staring back at him was striking. He had long since grown out of his diminutive, waif-like face, and now had a strong, angular jaw, and deep, haunting eyes that sparkled green the way that Dumbledore’s had always sparkled blue. His unkempt hair was downright sexy, if he were honest with himself, and when he allowed a reluctant smile to spread across his face, he had to admit that he was quite attractive. "Do you mean to say, Remus, that they think I’m fit?"

Ron dropped the spoon he was holding and it made a loud clank as milk sloshed from his cereal bowl. "Exactly how thick are you, Harry? Or didn’t you notice the herds of girls that used to follow you around at Hogwarts."

"I’m not thick! I just didn’t pay any attention to them." Harry made meaningful eye contact with Ron, who raised his eyebrows.

Lupin grinned, setting aside the mirror. "Well, if you’re not interested in any of these job offers, this whole stack over here is from women who would like to date you. Some have even sent pictures. Really Harry, you could try being a gigolo for a while," he joked.

Harry blushed crimson, and was glaring at Ron, furious that he’d brought up the topic of girls in the first place. Ron was thoroughly amused at his friend’s predicament, and silently mouthed the words, "tell him." Harry considered this for a moment, and determined that it might just be a prudent course of action to give Lupin all the "facts."

"Er, Remus, I don’t think ‘gigolo’ is a particularly good career choice for me." Lupin’s eyes met Harry’s, which were expressing obvious discomfort. "It’s just that…well…for one thing, I don’t actually like girls. I mean, er, not in that way. I…I’m gay." 

Harry wanted to dive for cover under the table, but his embarrassment waned some as he realized that Lupin was not as shocked as Harry thought he would be. A faint smile crossed Lupin’s lips and he nodded. "That might be a problem then," said Lupin.

It was Harry’s turn to be shocked. "Is that all you have to say? I thought you’d be surprised or revolted or … something."

"But I’m neither surprised nor revolted. I have to confess that the idea occurred to me when I realized James Potter’s son made it through seven years of Hogwarts without anyone ever mentioning a girlfriend. I didn’t think you and James could possibly be _that_ different, so if it wasn’t a girl… Anyway, what would you prefer that I say? Welcome to the club?"

Ron sprayed them with the tea he’d just slurped into his mouth, as he looked wide-eyed at Lupin, and then Harry. He and Harry had discussed at length people they knew who might possibly be gay, and Lupin’s name had never made it on the list. "Sorry," Ron said as he pulled out his wand to perform a quick cleaning spell. He noticed Harry and Lupin eyeing him with amusement, and he earnestly said, "Feel free to form a club, but keep me out of it."

"Ron is firmly in the heterosexual camp," Harry explained to Lupin. "He’s mostly very tolerant as long as he doesn’t have to hear any details of how I behave."

"Fair enough," said Lupin.

An awkward silence had emerged, so Lupin resumed sorting through the box of fan mail. They were nearing the bottom of the pile when Hedwig arrived with three more envelopes. She dropped them on the breakfast table, and landed gracefully on Harry’s shoulder. He held up some toast for her, which she took in her beak before soaring off.

Meanwhile, Lupin had picked up one of the letters. "Harry, here’s one that might interest you. It appears to be from your old school chum, Oliver Wood." Lupin smiled as he handed the letter to Harry. Memories of his year teaching at Hogwarts flooded back to him as he remembered having Wood in his NEWT level class and finding out the truth behind the wild rumors of Wood’s extracurricular activities.

Harry tore open the letter and read through it hastily. The second time through, he read it aloud to the others.

 

_Dear Harry –_

_I hope that you remember your old Quidditch captain now that you’re a famous celebrity. You must be receiving loads of mail from grateful witches and wizards. On behalf of myself and my family, I would like to thank you, as well, for ridding our world of You-Know-Who forever. I always knew you were an extraordinary person of the highest integrity. I am pleased that I had the opportunity to get to know you personally, before the media began to distort the truth about who you really are._

_My real purpose for writing is to invite you to consider playing Seeker for the Puddlemere United Reserve team. I’m not sure how closely you’ve been able to follow pro Quidditch, but our starting Seeker, Alvin Andrews, was killed by a Death Eater a few weeks ago. The team is quite saddened by this, but it does leave open a spot on the Reserve team, as Talia Stansfield will now move up to the starting role. I have discussed your abilities with our coaching staff and they are willing to sign a one-year contract – sight unseen – with Hogwarts’ former youngest Seeker in a century._

_New recruits are being asked to report to training by August 15th, but I know an exception can be made for you if you are not yet up to the rigors of Quidditch training. If you like, you can visit me for a while before you make up your mind. Just let me know of your interest by owl post._

_Hoping to see you soon,_

_Oliver Wood_

 

Ron was eyeing the letter longingly, and muttering under his breath, "A contract – sight unseen." Lupin was looking at Harry expectantly, waiting for a reaction from this perfect offer. Harry, on the other hand, was floored. Oliver Wood was writing to _him_ and thanking _him_! He had looked up to Wood ever since he made the House Quidditch team his first year at Hogwarts. Oliver Wood had taught him the game, and he’d learned most of the strategy he knew from Oliver. And it sounded as if Oliver had finally forgiven him for falling off his broomstick during a match against Hufflepuff his third year that nearly cost them the Quidditch Cup.

"Er, I think I’ll go and visit Wood like he suggests," said Harry at last. "It would be fun to play professional Quidditch, and at least he’s seen me play and knows I have some talent."

"That’s an excellent idea, Harry," Lupin said. "You can check it out and see if you like the other players. I think you and Oliver Wood will get on just fine. I remember teaching him as a seventh year. You and he have a lot in common." Harry did not think to question the twinkle in Lupin’s eyes when he said this.

* * * * *

They had arranged to meet at the Puddlemere United home stadium near Puddletown in Dorset. Harry arrived fifteen minutes early, using the extra time to survey the grounds and marvel at how a stadium of this size could be hidden from unsuspecting Muggles.

Harry jumped on his Firebolt and flew inside – it was like no experience he’d had before.

He could remember attending the World Cup four years ago and being amazed by the massive size and overpowering noise of that stadium. This one was not as large, but still almost five times the size of the stadium at Hogwarts. With a huge grin on his face, Harry flew low over the stands, soaring past the VIP seats in the top box and over to the hoops on one end of the field for a closer look.

Harry was so engrossed in his experience, that he didn’t notice Oliver until he was nearly next to him. "It’s a wee bit bigger than the stadium at Hogwarts," said Oliver by way of greeting.

Surprised, Harry turned quickly and shook Oliver’s outstretched hand. "Hey, Oliver. Nice to see you again. It’s been – what – four years?"

"That’s right. It was at the World Cup, just after I made the Puddlemere Reserve Team." Oliver’s eyes scrutinized Harry, and he wore a curious expression. "You’ve changed a lot in four years." Oliver flashed a friendly smile at Harry, which, instead of putting him at ease, made him slightly uncomfortable.

"I should hope so," was Harry’s awkward response. Oliver seemed unfazed by it, and motioned for Harry to follow him as he flew to the entrance to the players’ locker rooms. They dismounted their brooms and Harry followed Oliver inside.

"Here’s the locker room," said Oliver, giving Harry a quick tour. "Women change through that door and we’re through here," he said, walking into a typical changing area. They went through another door and the next sight made Harry gasp. There were showers tiled in deep royal blue and gold trim and elegant golden fixtures. A giant bathtub was sunk into the floor, which reminded Harry of the Prefects’ bathroom he’d once used at Hogwarts. Stacks of fluffy white towels were piled strategically around the room. Harry stared at the room in much the same way he’d stared at Diagon Alley the first time he’d been there with Hagrid. He hardly noticed that Oliver had crossed the room and was holding another door for him, waiting.

"This is remarkable," Harry said as he poked his head through the doorway to the next room. It was a weight room with all the latest training equipment. Harry didn’t know what half of these machines did, but they looked complicated and expensive – and definitely impressive.

Oliver laid his hand lightly on Harry’s shoulder. "Of course, you won’t spend too much time in here, since we don’t want our Seeker too bulked up." Harry noticed Oliver’s physique up close for the first time. He had always been husky, but he seemed to have spent a considerable amount of time in the weight room to develop pecs so well defined that the ripples could be seen through his t-shirt. Harry swallowed, trying to quell the natural, but highly inappropriate thought that popped into his head.

The next room had a pool, and Harry was told that he would be spending a considerable amount of time here if he joined the team, since swimming was the preferred activity for endurance training. After they left the training area, Harry was shown the offices, the conference rooms, media viewing centers – it was all overwhelming and impressive. He now understood why Quidditch tickets cost so much.

Throughout the tour, Oliver explained all about the Puddlemere organization, practice schedules, travel, and perks associated with being a professional athlete. Harry had known that it would be different than playing Inter-house Quidditch, but he had not been prepared for the "professionalism" of the sport. It was astonishing.

Oliver led them to a comfortable sitting room, which he described as the Players’ Lounge, where they sat on luxurious leather couches. A slender dark-haired woman was seated on another couch nearby reading a magazine, and she looked up with a smile as they sat down. "I hope you don’t mind, Harry, but I took the liberty of asking Talia Stansfield to meet us here. Talia, this is Harry Potter."

Harry stood up again, reaching over to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you," he said with a shy smile. He might be the ‘hero who conquered the Dark Lord’ to the wizarding public, but on the inside, he was still ‘just Harry.’ He wanted to make a good impression.

"Likewise," said Talia. Harry sat down again, feeling slightly nervous. He was grateful that she wasn’t ogling over him as so many women did, yet he also hoped this wasn’t going to turn into some kind of a job interview.

He needn’t have worried, though, because in a matter of minutes, Wood had them laughing comfortably together as if they’d always been friends. Talia, it turned out, was two years older than Oliver, but she had studied at Durmstrang since her mother’s family was all of Russian descent. She’d held the Seeker spot on the Reserve team for six years, and had only played about ten matches with the first team in all that time. She was quite anxious to prove herself to her teammates and the Team management.

It wasn’t long before the three of them were walking out onto the pitch again, broomsticks in hand. Talia offered to teach him some moves, and Oliver suggested he show her his trademarked dives. Harry chuckled to himself, remembering that Oliver had only seen him make those dives a few times four years ago; Harry had definitely perfected his diving skills since then.

Oliver let out a practice Snitch, and the two Seekers immediately began their search. It wasn’t quite the same as a match, since there were no Bludgers to avoid or teammates to dart between. However, Harry noticed right away that Talia was very competitive, and she brought out his own competitive nature. When Talia finally caught the Snitch forty minutes later, both Seekers were panting and sweaty. They landed in the middle of the pitch and walked back towards the locker rooms. Oliver Wood was nowhere in sight.

"You’re an excellent flyer," said Talia in her mild Slavic accent. "The other moves they will teach you, but you have natural flying instincts. Those they cannot teach. I think you will do well here."

Harry seemed surprised by her praise. He didn’t think he’d flown that well, and he didn’t catch the Snitch, which had been disappointing. "You’re not just saying that because I’m… well, because I’m Harry Potter, are you?"

Talia stopped walking, grabbed Harry’s arm and turned him to face her. "Look, you don’t strike me as being one of those wizards who’s overly impressed with himself, so I’m going to tell you the truth. Your name might have gotten you a spot on the team, but it’s only a one-year stint, and I can guarantee you that even Viktor Krum couldn’t get his contract renewed if he didn’t perform well. You have talent, Harry, but you’re going to have to work very hard if you want it to amount to anything."

"But it’s worth it, right? I mean, you’ve hung in here for six years waiting for a starting Seeker spot. You must enjoy it…"

Talia started walking towards the locker rooms again, and Harry followed. "It’s a nice lifestyle, Harry. Play Quidditch, work out, travel, sleep late if you want, and you’ll have more girls fighting over you than you can handle: especially with _your_ looks. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Er, no. Not much time with the war and NEWTs," Harry answered evasively. They were quiet for a moment before Harry asked, "Does Oliver date a lot of girls then?"

Talia giggled. "Oliver? No, definitely not. He’s one of the few players that doesn’t take advantage of the…social benefits of being on the team." They had reached the locker rooms and Talia disappeared through the door marked "Witches" while Harry entered the "Wizards" room.

Harry thought it odd that Oliver had disappeared, but he’d been so engrossed in his competition to catch the Snitch that he hadn’t noticed how long Oliver had been gone. He opened the door to the shower room, but it was empty. He was about to leave when he heard a loud banging noise coming from the direction of the weight room. 

He poked his head through the far door and saw Oliver working out on one of the machines. Immediately, all of Harry’s blood left his brain and pooled in his crotch. Oliver had taken off his t-shirt, and now wore only a pair of tight running shorts, socks and trainers. The sweat glistened on his torso, and when he saw Harry at the door, his face broke into a fetching smile. Harry quickly dropped his hands in front of him to block the view of his body’s true opinion of Oliver’s physique.

"Hey, Harry," Oliver chirped. "I hope you don’t mind – I decided to get a few reps in while you were occupied with Talia. You were flying so well, I thought you might go on for hours."

Harry replied glumly, "Yeah, but she beat me to the Snitch in the end."

"Maybe, but it probably irritated the hell out of her that it took her so long to beat you. She’s very competitive, that one."

"Yeah, I’d noticed," Harry said. None of his usual tricks was making his erection go away, and he knew he was going to have to get out of the room quickly before he embarrassed both Oliver and himself. "If you’re still working on the weights, I think I’ll shower, if that’s all right." _A very, very cold shower_ , he said to himself.

Oliver nodded. "Go on, I’ll only be a few more minutes."

Harry bolted out of the weight room and quickly immersed himself in the coldest shower he could stand. _I will not think of Oliver in those shorts._ As hard as he tried to picture Millicent Bulstrode lifting the weights instead, Oliver’s body kept popping back into his head. Freezing to death, he went to desperate measures and thought about the death and destruction on that July night when so many were lost. It was disturbing, but it did have the desired effect. By the time Oliver entered the shower room, Harry’s erection had quelled, and he was shivering.

"You know, Potter, they don’t charge us for heating the water. Are you trying to get hypothermia?" Oliver was smiling, but Harry couldn’t see well enough without his glasses to tell whether he was making fun.

Harry turned off the water and quickly grabbed a clean towel from a large stack. As he wrapped it around himself, he muttered, "I was really hot and sweaty from flying – ‘s’much better now." He carefully avoided looking at Oliver now that he’d gotten his body back under control. Picking up his glasses and clothes from the floor, he moved into the changing room without looking back. He could feel Oliver’s eyes following him to the door, though.

While waiting for Oliver to shower and change, Harry sat quietly in the locker room, wondering if it was possible for him to be a professional Quidditch player if showering with the other wizards was going to be a problem. The funny thing was that he’d never had this problem before. He’d known he was gay for two years, and in all the time he’d shared showers with his dormitory mates and Quidditch teammates, he’d never once had to beat a hasty retreat because of uncontrollable excitement. This led him to one conclusion: it had to be Oliver Wood doing this to him.

* * * * *

Harry emerged from the Executive Offices clutching a thick portfolio containing a draft of his contract and a few other legal documents. Though the offer to play at Puddlemere for a year was ‘sight-unseen,’ Team managers _had_ seen him battling Talia for the Snitch earlier and were extremely impressed by his performance. The owner nearly cried when Harry refused to sign right away, saying he wanted to think about it some more.

"They liked you then?" Oliver asked as Harry joined him.

Harry nodded. "Yes, I think they were shocked that I wouldn’t sign the papers today, though. But I didn’t think I could read them with everyone breathing down my neck." Harry stopped talking abruptly as the image of Oliver standing behind him breathing down his neck popped into his head. _Don’t think about him_ , he told himself harshly.

Part of the problem, he realized, was that Oliver wasn’t merely making polite eye contact. His looks were almost predatory, and Harry found them unnerving, yet definitely arousing. He briefly entertained the idea that Oliver could be interested in him as well, but dismissed it when he determined that Oliver had done nothing to encourage him. Anyway, there was nothing about his mannerisms that made Harry believe Oliver was gay.

"Are you hungry, Harry? There’s a little pub down the road here that has excellent food. A lot of the players go there nearly every night – I can introduce you to them." 

Harry was anxious to meet some of the other players, and to spend more time with Oliver, so he agreed. "I’m not exactly dressed for an evening out, though," he said.

Oliver scanned him from head to toe. Even though there was no reaction on Oliver’s face, the scrutiny made Harry uncomfortable. Oliver said, "It’s a casual place, but if you’d rather change into clothes that you haven’t worn playing Quidditch, I probably have something at my house that fits you. I’d like to show you the place, anyway, and you can leave your broomstick and papers there."

Harry agreed enthusiastically. He’d never seen a house owned by someone close to his own age, and wondered if Oliver’s would be as cool as he imagined. Oliver told him where to Apparate, and they both arrived at Oliver’s doorstep soon afterwards.

The first thing Harry noticed when he went inside was how clean it was. He’d always heard that single young men never cleaned up after themselves, but this house was so tidy that even Aunt Petunia wouldn’t have had anything to complain about. Oliver noticed that Harry found something strange about his house, because he immediately asked, "Is there something wrong?"

"No. It’s a beautiful house. Really nice. But I was just wondering – do you always keep it so clean?" Even using household cleaning spells to do the work, Harry couldn’t imagine himself ever making this much of an effort.

Oliver smiled. "I’m gone a lot, so I pay a lovely old witch to do my chores – looks like she came while I was out." 

Harry nodded and glanced around the room. There were knickknacks on the mantle above the fireplace, and a grouping of wizard photographs on the wall in the hallway. Harry noticed right away several photographs of Oliver hugging a golden-haired young man who must have been a few years older. He watched as he and Oliver high-fived each other and hugged in one photograph, and in another, they appeared to be wrestling. A third picture had them standing side-by-side, the older boy’s arm draped comfortably across Oliver’s shoulders as they mugged for the camera.

Oliver noticed Harry staring at the pictures as said, "That’s my brother, John. He left Hogwarts the year before you arrived – works for the Wizarding Wireless Network now. Look – there we are with our parents in that photograph." He pointed to an attractive family photograph. Immediately, Harry could tell that Oliver looked like his father, while John bore a striking resemblance to their mother.

Harry followed Oliver down the hallway to a large bedroom tastefully decorated in muted shades of scarlet and gold – Gryffindor colors – with a lovely oriental rug and several upholstered chairs that seemed quite expensive. Oliver was obviously anxious to see whether it met with Harry’s approval. To be honest, Harry had never seen anything quite so attractive, except in the adverts for home furnishing stores he used to see on the Dursleys’ television.

"This is really nice," said Harry. "Did you pick all of these things out yourself?"

"No. My mum took care of it while I was off on a three-week road trip last year. I told her to go ahead and buy a few things for me, and when I got back, she’d spent a fair amount of my money."

Harry tried not to show how much he wished his mum were alive to do something like that for him. As a distraction, he watched Oliver fishing through one of his dresser drawers. His hand emerged with a black t-shirt bearing the words "The Cure" across the front in bold white letters.

"An American friend of mine brought this for me when he came to visit. He didn’t realize that with all my weight training, I’d grown several sizes larger than the last time he saw me. I think it will fit you, though. "

Harry removed his shirt and took the t-shirt from Oliver. As his head poked through the neck hole, he thought he saw Oliver staring at him, but when he looked up again, Oliver had moved to the armoire where he pulled out a clean shirt for himself. Harry quickly excused himself to the other room, not wanting to risk another bout of excitement just before they were to meet Oliver’s teammates.

* * * * *

The pub was jumping with the boisterous revelry of the witches and wizards of the extended Puddlemere United Quidditch team. Word had gotten out that Harry Potter would be dining at the pub that night, and none of the team wanted to miss an opportunity to rub elbows with the savior of the Wizarding World. Harry would have been completely overwhelmed by this if he hadn’t been distracted by the way Oliver kept grabbing at his arm to introduce him to people or by his warm breath whispering some bit of gossip in his ear. As it was, he was thoroughly enjoying his initiation into the world of professional sports.

After the third wizard asked him to describe the Final Battle and had received the same courteous, yet vague answer, Oliver finally came to his rescue and declared that no one was allowed to ask Harry about the War until after he’d signed the contract to play Seeker for Puddlemere. Everyone laughed and there were no more awkward questions for the night.

Harry ate some food and drank a few pints, eventually finding himself seated on a barstool next to Ambrose Clarke, one of the starting Chasers. Ambrose was considered the "old man" of the team, since he was closing in on his thirty-seventh birthday. Harry found him fascinating to talk to and was soon swept up in a lively conversation about politics at the Ministry of Magic.

"Oh, dear, Harry. I’m in trouble now," said Ambrose as he glanced past Harry’s shoulder. An amused grin spread from ear to ear as he quickly took a swig of lager to keep from laughing.

Harry frowned. "Why? What’d you do?"

"I’ve been spending too much time talking to you. It appears that our Keeper has a crush on you. I’m surprised I didn’t see it before – he’s usually much more subtle than this. Or couldn’t you feel the daggers he was shooting across the room at us?" Ambrose flashed a crooked smile at Harry.

"Are you telling me he’s gay?" asked Harry quietly.

Ambrose nodded. "He doesn’t flaunt it or anything, but yeah, he’s bent as a nine bob note. Don’t worry though. I’ve never seen him come on to any bloke who wasn’t asking for it." He scanned Harry from head to toe. "But I bet with you’re looks, you’re used to plenty of attention from both sexes."

Harry felt a blush wash over his cheeks. "I suppose so. Personally, I don’t see it, but if other people can, then that’s great. But I think they’re mostly just interested in me because I’m famous; it gets tiresome."

The barkeep set another pint in front of Harry, and as he turned to pick it up, he saw Oliver staring at him. Harry smiled, and Oliver smiled back but did not come over to join them.

Ambrose surveyed the situation again and turned so that Oliver wouldn’t see him grinning. "Harry, you’d better be careful. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him this smitten with anyone."

Harry leaned in to him to ask, "How exactly can you tell? He seems perfectly normal to me."

"I’ve seen Oliver pull a fair few blokes in the last couple of years. If he were thinking along the lines of a quick shag, he’d be all over you with his charming pick-up lines. And he’s very charming – I swear Oliver could charm a homophobe into bending over if he wanted him badly enough. But I’ve only seen him do this avoidance thing once before, with Carl, his last boyfriend."

Harry smiled, hoping it seemed like he was merely interested in this conversation so that he could tease Oliver about it later. In reality, he was already plotting a way to land himself in Oliver’s bed, preferably as soon as possible. "Weird. So what happened to, er, Carl?" Harry asked nonchalantly.

"Carl? He was pretty, but sort of a wanker. Really just wanted to hang out with Oliver so he could get free Quidditch tickets. At least that’s what I think. I suspect Oliver has a different take on the whole affair. But between you and me, I’d steer clear of the subject, especially if he’s been drinking."

"I’ll do that." Harry stood up from his barstool, noticing as he did that he was little tipsy. Well, what could he expect since he’d had three pints in the past hour? He nodded to Ambrose and said, "There are a few people I haven’t met yet, so if you’ll excuse me… It’s been really good talking with you."

"So, Harry, are you going to sign with Puddlemere?" asked Ambrose with a sly grin.

Harry grinned back and shrugged. "You never know."

After visiting with Talia and meeting a few others, Harry decided that Oliver looked far too inviting to resist for much longer, so he made his way over to Oliver’s table.

"This is a fun group of people," said Harry. "I really enjoyed talking to Ambrose – he’s a fascinating person, isn’t he?"

For a fleeting second, an expression of utmost hatred was visible in Oliver’s eyes, and it frightened Harry. He couldn’t figure out what he might have said to offend Oliver, but he really hoped that the anger wasn’t directed towards him. That would definitely put a damper on his plans for the evening. He thought this might be an excellent time to use the toilet; perhaps his absence would give Oliver a few moments to calm down.

Harry was just finishing his business when the door flew open and a very upset Oliver Wood burst through it: an upset and completely drenched Oliver Wood. His hair was plastered to his head, rivulets of liquid running down his neck and soaking into his shirt. And he smelled like…

"Lager! Goddamn Ambrose Clarke doused me with an entire pint!" Oliver stalked over to the paper towels and pulled one down rather forcefully.

It was all Harry could do to bite back a laugh. He knew that Oliver was really angry, and that having an altercation with Ambrose was no laughing matter, but the fact was that Oliver looked adorable.

Instead of laughing, Harry quietly asked, "Exactly what happened?"

Wood glanced up over the top of the paper towel he was using to wipe his face. "He didn’t like what I had to say, so he threw his pint at me. And then he had the gall to tell me that next time, he’d throw a punch instead. Bastard."

Harry closed the space between them and put a reassuring hand on Oliver’s shoulder. "I’ve got my wand. Let me just clean you up a bit and we can get out of here."

Oliver replied, "No, you can’t. It’s a Muggle pub, so you can’t do magic here. Look, I’ll be fine, Harry." Harry took the paper towel from his hand and rubbed it across Oliver’s neck and ear. He bit his lip as he worked, oblivious to the fact that his tender actions were driving Oliver wild.

"I should say goodbye to everyone before I leave. Is that okay?" Harry’s eyes bored into Oliver’s – the two of them were nearly the same height – and it took all the willpower he possessed not to snog Oliver senseless right there in the middle of the gents.

"You go ahead and take your time, Harry. I’ll go home and take a quick shower – no need to smell like the pub all night. Do you remember where my house is?" Oliver looked contrite and, now that the lager was soaking down to his jeans, he was somewhat pathetic.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I do. I’ll be along in a few minutes, then." Oliver nodded, and Harry watched as he Disapparated from the room.

* * * * *

When Harry Apparated into Oliver’s front hallway, he expected to hear water running in the shower. Instead, he found Oliver sitting at his kitchen table with his head in his hands. He’d stripped to the waist, and Harry could see that he’d haphazardly tossed his lager-soaked shirt into the sink. He looked up when Harry entered the room.

"Harry, I’m sorry for acting like such a prat," he said quietly. "I shouldn’t have provoked Ambrose like that. Some host I’m turning out to be. I hope you’ll forgive me."

Harry pulled one of the kitchen chairs around and sat so that he could gaze into Oliver’s eyes. "Ambrose said that when he suggested you stay away from me, you accused him of wanting to shag me himself. Is that true?"

Oliver blushed. "He said you were too young and that you’d been through so much because of the War that you probably didn’t know what you wanted, so I should leave you alone. And, um, I might have accused him of…er…that." Oliver’s voice trailed off as he observed the hint of amusement in Harry’s eyes. Harry had shifted again so that his face was just inches away, and Oliver shivered when he felt Harry’s breath on his bare shoulder.

"Just goes to show you," whispered Harry, "that Ambrose doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. I know _exactly_ what I want."

"And what’s that?"

There were so many ways Harry wanted to answer that question – most of which involved descriptions of various ways he’d like to seduce Oliver – he was rendered speechless. So he leaned forward and forcefully kissed Oliver’s lips. Oliver pulled away quickly.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"I’m eighteen, I haven’t had sex for ages, and I’m alone with an incredibly attractive man who’s all but admitted he wants to shag me. What do you think I’m doing?"

"Er, I had no idea you’d even be inter—" Oliver began, but he was cut off as Harry’s lips pressed against his for a second time. He didn’t back away this time, but raised a hand up to cradle the back of Harry’s head, pulling him even closer.

Harry closed his eyes as he deepened the kiss, tasting the bitterness of the lager as his tongue explored Oliver’s mouth. He could feel Oliver’s breathing speed up as his hands gently grazed the Keeper’s taut shoulder muscles. Harry flicked his tongue across Oliver’s jaw line, and then nibbled and licked his way down to the hollow of his throat. Oliver moaned softly as Harry sucked the sensitive spot just below his Adam’s apple. Oliver’s skin was bitter and salty from lager and sweat. It was intoxicating.

"You taste good enough to eat," muttered Harry, as he continued to kiss his way down Oliver’s chest towards his naval, stopping at each nipple to caress it with his tongue.

Oliver chuckled, and the vibration of his chest sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. "Don’t let me stop you then," he chuckled. "But I’m a mess. Shall I go take a quick shower?"

"Mmmm, a shower would be nice," answered Harry, looking up into Oliver’s eyes. "But not a quick one. I don’t want us to feel rushed." A smile spread across his face as he watched it dawn on Oliver that he had every intention of joining him.

Oliver was on his feet again in a split second, and dragging Harry down the hallway to the bathroom as if he couldn’t get there quickly enough. Leading the smaller man inside, Oliver shut the door and took a step back.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Oliver asked, a note of worry in his voice. "I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you or anything."

Harry laughed at his comment. "Oliver, I fucking killed Voldemort and survived more Death Eater attacks than you’ll ever know about. Don’t you think I’m capable of warding off an unwanted advance? Really, I was rather worried that you’d think I was taking advantage of you and…" Harry pulled Oliver close again until their lips were hardly an inch apart. "God, do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you all day?"

"That would explain the cold shower then," replied Oliver with dancing eyes.

Their next kiss went on forever, with Harry resting against the door and Oliver’s thigh pressing oh-so-deliciously against Harry’s erection. Harry slid his hands down Oliver’s back and cupped his arse cheeks as they kissed. But there were too many clothes in the way. His need to release his cock from the confines of his jeans was getting desperate. 

He broke off the kiss and his fingers flew to the top button of his jeans. He hoped Oliver would take the hint and remove his own clothes, but he seemed to be mesmerized by the sight of Harry’s newly exposed skin. As his boxers hit the floor, Oliver gasped, "Christ, Harry, you’re the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen!"

Harry had never learned how to be gracious about accepting compliments, so he blushed and said, "And you’re wearing entirely too much. Take those off so that I can ravish you properly."

Oliver complied, and the two randy wizards moved playfully into the shower, bantering lightly as they crossed the floor. Harry couldn’t keep his hands off Oliver, and no matter what he did, he wasn’t able to get quite enough contact with Oliver’s skin. While Oliver washed the lager out of his hair, Harry found the soap and generously lathered his companion’s body. The soap made Oliver’s skin slick as Harry’s hands explored him enthusiastically.

"What do you want, Harry?" asked Oliver, the breathiness in his voice being drowned out by the splash of water against the tiles.

Harry growled, "I want everything. I want to taste you before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit on your broomstick without thinking of me." Harry could feel Oliver harden against his thigh even more as he spoke. He carefully dropped to his knees and ran his tongue along the underside of Oliver’s cock before taking it into his mouth to suck and tease greedily.

Oliver was already impossibly hard, and Harry knew it wouldn’t take much to coax him over the edge. His moans were captivating, and spurred Harry on to suck and lick with even more abandon. Harry slid his left hand around to gently squeeze Oliver’s balls, causing him to gasp for breath.

"Gods, Harry," shouted Oliver as he shot into Harry’s eager mouth. He slid down the shower tiles and landed hard on the floor. He pulled Harry close to capture his lips, noticing as they kissed that Harry was still hard as a rock. Oliver gripped him, slowly moving his hand along the length of his shaft.

"Fuck. Oliver." There was a pleading tone in Harry’s voice, as he arched into Oliver’s hand. He needed… _needed_ it so much.

"That could definitely be arranged," replied Oliver. "But let’s move into the bedroom. The hot water’s about to run out, and you’ve nearly gotten hypothermia once today already."

Oliver turned off the water, handing Harry a towel as he stepped out of the shower. They quickly dried each other off and headed to Oliver’s bedroom. Harry was quivering with anticipation. 

Oliver pulled a few tubes out of his bedside table and tossed them on the bed. "They all have different spells to change the effect. You might want to start with the blue one – it’ll make you last longer."

Harry thought it unlikely that he’d last more than a minute, but he’d never used magical lube before so it was worth a try. He watched as Oliver pulled back the covers and laid himself spread-eagled on the bed. Oliver was a thing of beauty, with his chiseled muscles and wanton lips. Harry wondered what it would be like to hear Oliver crying out to him with those lips. It was definitely time to find out.

"I want you so much," Harry moaned as his lips captured Oliver’s. With surprising quickness, he rubbed his own cock with the gel from the blue tube and gently probed Oliver with a slick finger. A loud hiss escaped from Oliver’s lips as Harry found his sweet spot, causing his previously disinterested cock to perk right up.

"Get on with it, Harry," whimpered Oliver. "I’m no virgin, and I’ve been ready since I first saw you on the Quidditch pitch."

He needed no additional encouragement, so Harry slowly entered him, exhaling loudly as Oliver’s tight muscles surrounded him. The sensation was nearly too much, but fortunately, the lube had done something to diminish his urgent need for release. Yes, this would be good. "So good," he moaned as he leaned forward to kiss Oliver’s neck. "Tell me when I can move."

While Oliver got used to the feeling of Harry inside him, Harry took the opportunity to become acquainted with Oliver’s nipples. He licked, sucked and gently nibbled on one until it was hard and then moved to the other. Oliver was enjoying the attention so much that he forgot Harry was waiting for the go-ahead.

"Please, Oliver," panted Harry, "I need to…"

"Go on then."

Harry’s brain became void of all rational thought as he repeatedly thrust into Oliver, quickly finding a comfortable rhythm. Oliver was so tight around him, and he was making the most delectable noises each time Harry found his prostate. Even with the gel, Harry knew he wouldn’t last too much longer, so he reached down to grasp Oliver’s erection, wanting to get him off at the same time. 

Harry continued to pound into Oliver; he’d never before been so forceful. His lover didn’t seem to mind a bit. Their bodies, once damp from the shower, were now glistening with sweat from their exertion. As Harry’s climax approached, he worked Oliver’s cock even harder. He could feel Oliver’s back arch as his tension grew. Knowing that Oliver was close too, Harry let himself go and was immediately overcome by wave after quivering wave of pleasure. He felt a sticky warmth on his hand as the final tremor left him and knew that Oliver had found his release as well.

"That was fantastic!" gushed Harry breathlessly. Oliver pulled him into a deep, satiated kiss and they rolled around on the bed searching for a position in which they could snuggle while maintaining the maximum possible skin contact. Lips brushed lips, while fingertips languidly stroked sweaty muscles.

Harry watched Oliver’s face, which was illuminated by a shaft of moonlight that peeked through the window where they’d forgotten to close the blinds in their haste to get to the bed. He wondered what to do now; his previous encounters with Justin had all taken place in empty classrooms at Hogwarts, so spending the night together wasn’t an option. Did he assume it was all right to stay, or wait to be invited? Harry didn’t want to go back to his dingy room at Grimmauld Place, and since Oliver’s arm was wrapped tightly around him, he didn’t get the impression that Oliver was anxious for him to leave. Maybe they could have another go in the morning….

Oliver must have been reading his mind. "Stay," he said. "That is, I’d really like you to stay, if you want. I don’t want to wake up in the morning thinking this was all in my imagination."

"I’d like to stay," answered Harry. He traced the beam of moonlight that played on Oliver’s face with his finger. The softness of Oliver’s lips was in stark contrast to the stubble on his cheek. "I haven’t ever really had the chance to stay afterwards, and there was no one during the War." Harry sighed as he realized that this was the first time in five hours that he’d thought about the War. Must be some kind of personal record. Being with Oliver had caused him to forget his pain and sorrow, even if only for a little while.

Harry focused on the moonbeam again, and it suddenly reminded him that Lupin’s transformation was only a few days off. "Thank goodness Lupin convinced me to come here," Harry muttered, quite unaware that he was speaking aloud.

Oliver’s half-closed eyes snapped open. " _Professor_ Lupin? He talked you into coming here?"

It dawned on Harry that Oliver didn’t know him that well, and certainly wouldn’t have had any idea that he was still friendly with their former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry supposed he ought to get into the long-winded explanation about his relationship with Lupin, but he didn’t have the energy at the moment, and it was complicated to explain.

"Yeah," said Harry. "He was at my house when I got your owl and suggested I consider your offer." Only now did Harry remember the sly look on Lupin’s face at the time. Harry grinned. "He seemed to think we have a lot in common."

"What did he say about me?" Oliver asked anxiously. Harry was keen to know why Oliver found this upsetting.

"He said he remembered teaching you and that he thought we’d get on fine. He was cheerful when he said it. Why?" A horrible idea popped into his head. What if Oliver and Lupin had… "You didn’t ever have sex with him or anything, did you?"

A disbelieving sneer flashed across Oliver’s face. "Of course not. It’s just that he… well… He nearly had me expelled from Hogwarts."

"Lupin did? You’re joking."

Oliver rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "It’s not really his fault, I suppose. I was breaking the school rules after all. But still, you’d think after catching me for the third time he’d just leave it alone."

This story was starting to get good; he’d always had an appreciation for rule breaking. Harry lay on his side, his head propped up by his hand, with a gleeful smirk on his face. "What were you doing that would have gotten you expelled, Oliver?"

Oliver closed his eyes. "He found me in a few, er, compromising positions. Well, make that one compromising position with several different boys. It was almost like he was watching me, you know?"

Harry was floored. He’d known of a few students who had been caught up in the Astronomy Tower, and they’d been severely reprimanded. Had Lupin really been that soft? "I note that his finding you didn’t cause you to change your behavior at all."

A soft chuckle emerged from Oliver’s lips. "Well, I might have taken advantage of the fact that he wanted Gryffindor to win the Quidditch Cup as much as I did, and he knew we didn’t have a chance without me as Keeper. We reached an understanding, and I thought he was okay with it. The daisy chain just about did him in, though."

"Daisy chain?" choked Harry. "Good God, Oliver, you were gutsy, weren’t you?"

"Gryffindor through and through."

Harry leaned over and caught Oliver’s luscious lips in a kiss. ‘A lot in common’ indeed, he thought. As he drifted off to sleep, Harry decided he needed to do something very nice for Lupin to return the favor.

* * * * *

Harry awoke the next morning after having his best night’s sleep since the War. It took him only a few seconds to realize he’d been pulled out of his slumber by the soft caresses of Oliver’s hand on the small of his back. Harry smiled, and Oliver smiled back. This was really nice.

"The best part about playing pro Quidditch," beamed Oliver, "is that you can sleep late any day of the week – or not sleep, as the case may be."

Harry responded, "I like the way you think."

"Really? Most people just like me for my body, rather than my sharp mind."

"I like both, actually. You know, Oliver, I’ve been thinking," said Harry, resting his head on the older man’s shoulder while his hand feathered lightly over his chest. "I don’t believe it would be a very good idea for me to sign with Puddlemere."

Harry felt Oliver swallow hard. Oliver said, "I don’t understand. You seemed to like the team, and the money’s pretty good." 

Harry lifted his head slightly so that Oliver could see his face. "It’s not the money at all. It’s the Keeper. I’m going to play like shit every time you’re on the pitch because I can’t keep my eyes off you. How will I ever catch the Snitch?"

"We’ll work out a reward system," replied Oliver. "Each time you have a good practice, I’ll bring you back here for a reward. You can choose anything you like – preferably something that doesn’t require clothes. Does that sound fair?"

"Mmmm. More than fair. That’s a powerful incentive."

"Good. So will you sign?" Oliver was fairly certain that Harry was joking, but there was enough doubt in his mind to make his voice a little shaky.

"I don’t know. I think I might need some kind of incentive. Would there be any kind of a reward for signing?" Harry’s eyes glistened as he tried to feign innocence and failed miserably.

"That can most definitely be arranged. I’ll see to the reward personally."

A wide grin broke out across Harry’s face. "In that case, let’s find a quill right away. I’m anxious to receive my reward as soon as possible."

 

__

finis


End file.
